


The 4D Chess He Played

by Lucere_Aeresta



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: Conspiracy Theory, I don't know why I wrote it, IT'S A JOKE, M/M, OOC, and bullshit, capitol riot, really ooc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:08:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28647318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucere_Aeresta/pseuds/Lucere_Aeresta
Summary: This abomination is inspired by a Tweet:"In the end, Trump cost Republicans the Presidency, the Senate, and the House. The son of bitch actually did it. He made America great again."--It is all this guy's fault.Trigger warning: 6 Jan Capitol riot.Really, this entire fanfic is bullshit. It is stupid and OOC as fuck. No proofreading because it is too embarrassing to read.You are warned.
Relationships: Joe Biden/Donald Trump
Comments: 8
Kudos: 22





	The 4D Chess He Played

_And it shall end here. Everything._

Biden steered his eyes over to the man standing at the other corner of the room. Some senators and representatives were shivering and praying, others hiding under the seats or behind the desks. But the man who led everyone to this horror and chaos was standing, looking out of the windows as if nothing had happened.

The smile on this man’s face--Biden couldn’t see it, but in his mind’s eyes, it is clear as crystal and bright as the rising sun—must have been as confident as usual, even amid this dire crisis. The smile had mesmerized him belonged to the man who captured his heart.

The man who was the enemy of his—and maybe the entire nation’s.

“Donny, I…”

Trump turned around before Biden could finish his muttering.

It was that smile, of course. His heart paused for a split second.

“Ask,” Trump demanded, as if he knew what was in the older man’s mind.

Biden shook his head, the tender affection fading from his face.

“Go tell them to end this madness. You are responsible for all the disasters and you should do something about it.” Biden asserted.

“That is not what you wanted to say.”

_It is not, but why do you care? Why do you care anything about me, what I want, or how I feel…_

_… at this moment?_

Trump seemed to be able to read his mind. He shrugged, turning back to face the window.

“I told you, Joe, I have a plan. It will work. Just wait and see.”

Just wait and see. It was exactly what he said, several times to him, before everything had started, and as everything was going into this unforeseeable but certain desperation.

Biden still remembered the day he confessed his feeling to Trump, the night after the first debate. He was surprised he waited so long to put it into words—the last time they met each other, they already kissed briefly after a banquet. It might be the trick of alcohol, but as the days went by, Biden realized his true feeling about his enemy in politics.

The moment he uttered the lines that he had rehearsed in mind for days, he saw the fleeting passion in Trump’s eyes. It was authentic and undeniable. Just like when they kissed, the short-lived zeal of love between their lips and tongues.

But the unexpected always happened. His eagerness was met with a stone-hard rejection.

“But…” Biden swallowed, “I thought we share the same feeling for each other.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Trump smirked, and backed up a few steps, leaving a gap between them.

“What does that even mean? Doesn’t your feeling matter to you?”

“It might. But I have something more important to do now.” Trump opened the door, “just wait and see.”

Biden never understood Trump, just as he never understood his feeling for him. He never agreed with anything that Trump said and did, nor did he register Trump’s political views for even a slight bit. Nevertheless, the feeling was blazing and overwhelming. He couldn’t move his eyes and heart from it.

Deep in his heart, he somehow believed Trump and he shared something in common, although he didn’t know what it is. The love of America? That sounds hilarious just thinking about it. Yet this ungrounded feeling haunted him, making him wonder if it is not merely the wishful thinking that was brought up by the maddening love.

Trump’s political attack and slander, even personal insult on Biden seemed unbearable for a lot of voters, but Biden himself was little concerned about how the harsh and mean words affect him, rather, he was bothered by their influence on Trump.

“Why are you doing this, Donny?” The night after the second debate, he couldn’t keep the silence anymore, so he chased Trump down in his hotel room. “It is so weird. Don’t you think so?”

“Weird how?” Trump squinted his eyes, “not like you are still dreaming about me fucking you with true love, right?”

“I…” Biden’s mouth felt dry, but he had no intention to lie. He nodded.

“You seemed to be enjoying me humiliating you publicly. You little masochistic bitch.” Trump rushed forward, holding Biden’s arm, and hurled him onto the bed.

“I can give you what you want, at least the physical part.”

Biden said nothing. He was not enjoying the humiliation, but it barely mattered at this moment. He knew it was smarter to push Trump away and leave the room as quickly as possible than to keep up with this insanity, but he couldn’t bring himself to say no to this moment he had been expecting for so long.

He complied. He opened himself for Trump’s hardness to enter. The dirty words from Trump ignited his desire more fervently. Even the things he didn’t quite like hearing from Trump--such as “you will lose the election” in other circumstances sounded like the spicy talk between lovers as the man he loved thrusting inside him.

“Oh, Donny,” He moaned, “give it to me!”

“As you wish.”

For a moment he thought he detected the flame of love in Trump’s eyes. He knew the feeling and the look very well. He tried to catch it before Trump could hide it from him again.

“Donny, I know your feeling for me. Just admit it,” Biden said, panting and shivering under the great pleasure Trump gave him.

Without a word, Trump speeded his thrust, his face reddening and eyes shining. Biden covered his cheek with his palm; softly, he caressed his face and neck, then held tightly on his shoulder as he was pushed to the peak of pleasure.

The faint and evading tenderness of Trump escaped before Biden recovered from orgasm. He sought the hand of Trump and tried to hold it, but the sweaty hand retreated as soon as he touched it.

“Now you are satisfied?” Trump straightened up and started to put clothes on. “Then just leave.”

Biden sighed, “I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to. You will play your part, but everything is under my control.” Trump said assuringly.

“I don’t think you can get what you want by doing…all what you have been doing.” Biden shook his head, “you know that Donny. I know you are not stupid as some may think.”

“Don’t talk as if you know what I want.” The slightest anger on Trump’s face could not escape Biden’s observation, yet he had no way to capture that rare true feeling expressed by this mysterious man.

“I think I do.”

“Think however you would like to,” Trump hmphed, “none of my business. Just keep saying what you need to say and keep doing what you must do. You will be fine.”

What does that even mean? Biden pressed his temple, smiling tiredly.

Biden did not get an answer. The events following the election day cleared no confusion but puzzled him more. He tried all he could to have a private conversation with Trump, but that man was nothing but an enigma with his seemingly crazy moves.

The victory tasted less delicious with all the spice and bitterness that Trump added to the whole situation. The claim of voting fraud, the lawsuit attempt, and the disturbing speeches--Biden was worried, not only for himself but more for the man who had been deeply in impossible stubbornness.

The runoff election of Georgia finally brought Trump to him. It was merely a couple of months since they last met, but felt like an entire year for him.

And the man he loved seemed aging even more. Did this loss hit him so much? Biden wondered.

_Is he so distraught…because of me?_

“Joe,” the smile grew on Trump’s face again, almost like Trump was also happy to meet him. But suddenly, he was filled with a surge of anger. Uncontrollably, he stormed to Trump and grabbed his shirt.

“You will destroy yourself, fool!” He yelled, “don’t you hear what the Republicans are talking about you? And the people? If not for you, the Senate could have--”

“As if I care.” Trump interrupted, with a smirk on his face.

“Then what DO you care? Your power? Your fans’ worship?”

“I said I will make America great again,” Trump said, “you never believed me, even though you claim you love me.”

Biden was taken aback by this blatant mentioning of his feeling. He paused for a few seconds, frowning and pondering.

“It has nothing to do with the love,” he murmured eventually.

“You shall see.”

“Come on, stop that—whatever game you are playing, just stop.” Biden felt he was losing patience with this man. He started to hate him as much as he loved him.

But what Trump could have shown him?

_Nothing._

“End it here. We can have some peace. You see, there is nowhere you can go anymore.”

“We can’t, Joe. You know that.” Trump shook his head, “and I have my way.”

_This is his way._

When hearing about the abrupt recession, Biden thought he finally understood Trump’s intention…or just a tiny bit more. Soon he learned about Trump’s speech earlier in the day, and what had happened following his incitement.

_Did I push him to the path of self-destruction?_

Trump still refused to give him an answer, even at this moment of danger and destruction. He wanted to punch him in the face—he almost did it as Trump told him to wait and see, but was interrupted by a gunshot and commotions outside the safe room.

“Someone is shot!” People yelled and screamed.

“Why, Donny?” Biden’s arm felt like noodles. The rage he had a moment ago turned into sadness. He lost the strength to hit, barely enough for him to ask the question.

“So this is your plan. This is your way…and how you make America great again.” Biden’s voice was shaking, “with violence and insurrection, destruction and riot, and eventually maybe the doom of yourself. I never thought…”

“Isn’t that beautiful?” Trump put his hand on Biden’s neck, pulling him a bit closer, “when the session is resumed, no challenge of the election result will be taken seriously.”

“What…” Biden’s hand clasped on Trump’s wrist. All of a sudden he felt scared, for no reason but a gut feeling of something going on very wrong—more wrong than the riot rampaging the Capitol buildings.

“It is done. My job is finally done.” Trump smiled again. “Mr. President.”

“What are you talking about? Your job? For the past four years, you corrupted the Republican Party, America and her people, and now this?” For the first time, he felt like he was going to shed tears in front of Trump.

“I didn’t corrupt them. They have always been corrupted. All I did was to expose the corruption under the sunlight and push them to a point they have no turning back. Everyone will face the consequence of their own choice. Now you see where everyone stands—the parties, senators, representatives, even citizens. That’s it. You know what to do next.”

“No, Donny, don’t tell me you have been planning--" Biden’s voice was shaking.

“Shhhhh, sweety,” Trump put a finger on his lips to seal in the upcoming words. “Listen, this is it. I am going to tell them to leave. You stay here. Stay safe and take over from here. I am going to do the last thing for America…” Trump paused, caressing his face gently, his voice turning soothing and soft, “and for you, my dearest Joe.”

“Fuck you!” Lowering his voice, Biden cursed, while wiping his tears before they fell.

“Maybe later.” 

Biden stared at the windows. He heard the footsteps of Trump drawing further way, and the opening and closing of doors. He did not turn around.

“Let’s wait and see, Donny.”


End file.
